


Painted

by gummybearsandscotch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Begging, Crossdressing, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Rough Sex, a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummybearsandscotch/pseuds/gummybearsandscotch
Summary: The bard's eyes flutter closed. Fire burns in his belly, lining a trail slung low between his thighs. There's a drop of saliva rolling down his chin when he whispers, shamefully, "Yessir."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 669





	Painted

**Author's Note:**

> Another little fic written for these lovely men. ♥️

Jaskier shivers. 

He's on his knees, slivers of splintered wood from the worn floor digging into his skin. There's nothing soft there to pad the taut flesh, no bear skin rug or silk sheets or any other illusions of romance. The only evidence of sensuality lies with him, in the painted lines around his eyes, and the buttery soft leather that hugs the flat curve of his pectorals. Which, might he add, offers absolutely _no_ protection against the considerable chill of the room. 

There's a slight whine to his voice as he tells the Witcher, "It's colder tonight than I thought it would be."

"Yes, I can see that." Geralt's gaze is level with the strip of flesh just above the corset. He smirks, and Jaskier blushes, pretty and delicate wash of pink down to his hard nipples. He's not normally this shy, but then he's not normally dressed like a lady of the night either. 

"The lipstick suits you," Geralt says, tilting his head as he reaches down to pet Jaskier's hair. He observes him the way he would a treat in a shop, something sweet, topped with sugar. It makes Jaskier's cock ache between his thighs to be stared at in such a way.

Like an object. Like a _whore._

"Does it? I didn't think red was my color," he teases, but the words come out shaky, breathless. He licks his lips and they taste tart. Had it been him that had suggested this? He couldn't quite remember, now, but it hardly matters -- not when Geralt's cock presses against his cheek, hot and hard through the fabric of his pants. 

"Pity, isn't it?" Geralt chuckles a little as Jaskier mouths at him greedily. "All that work put into trussing yourself up... just to have it ruined." He drives his point him by grabbing Jaskier's hair and sliding up against his mouth, smearing the red over his parted lips. "But you enjoy when I ruin you, don't you, whore?"

The bard's eyes flutter closed. Fire burns in his belly, lining a trail slung low between his thighs. There's a drop of saliva rolling down his chin when he whispers, shamefully, "Yes _sir._ "

Geralt decides to ignore that tiny lilt of attitude he detects in Jaskier's voice; mainly because it's much more productive to undo his trousers and shove his cockhead past Jaskier's lips, effectively gagging him, and threading his fingers in the soft dark strands that part easily for his grip. "And this? This is what you're wanting, isn't it?" He draws in a ragged breath, watching Jaskier's head bob over his cock in desperation. "It's what you _always_ want."

There's no good argument against that.

Jaskier hums and swallows, working his throat around Geralt's cock, eyes shining as he looks up at his Witcher. He would sink to his knees anywhere for Geralt -- in the woods, shaded only by the brush and the cover of the trees; in a tavern, with the other patrons watching, jeering him on. 

Here, in this room, in little more than a strip of leather, his lips flush to Geralt's groin. 

_Here_ , in the familiar little world of his Witcher's palms, eyes wet and lips swollen and cheeks red with heat.

The look that he gives the Witcher must do something special, because he's yanked back suddenly and tossed rather unceremoniously to the floor. He lands in a sprawl, but it's not how he wants to be taken, not how he knows Geralt wants to take him... so he moves onto his hands and knees, and shows off the already-slick place between his thighs.

He's glad that his grin is hidden against the floor as he hears Geralt draw in a strangled breath. 

"Of course," his Witcher rumbles, his rough fingers seeking out the slick hole that twitches under his touch. "Of _course_ you'd have opened yourself already for me." 

In one rough movement, he's tugged back, corset tight around his ribs and spine as Geralt uses his hips as leverage to start fucking into him. Their coupling is rough, and raw, and he's never felt so _used_ before. It's exhilarating. But even in their brutality, he knows the hands holding him in place are just as likely to run down the length of his spine, stroking him to sleep -- and the mouth snarling, bared over his shoulder while Geralt curses and calls him a litany of foul names, is just as likely to kiss him awake in the morning, deep and languid. 

His Witcher can be cruel, but there's a warmth in him that is lovely, a place of safety that Jaskier knows he can lose himself in without fear of repercussion.

"Please, oh please, _mercy_..." Jaskier is sobbing now, his hands seeking purchase on the unforgiving floor. Geralt pushes in and grinds up and down, deep as he can go, drawing a cry from Jaskier that climbs in octave with every movement. He reaches around to touch him, and it's with a scream that Jaskier comes, clenching and clawing and painting the floor red where his mouth presses into it.

Embarrassing, really, how little stimulation it seems to take when he's just this damn turned on.

Geralt allows him a moment to bask in the pleasure before he's pushed forward and turned back over, legs splayed open, cum staining the dark leather on his belly. He looks at Geralt and for a long moment, neither of them speak. His Witcher's eyes are dark as he stares him down in the heated quiet.

"You didn't..." Jaskier starts to say, but Geralt interrupts him with a shake of his head, and the tell-tale tug at the corners of his mouth that means he's keeping back a smile. 

"It's fine," Geralt murmurs, his hand wandering up the inside of Jaskier's thigh. The bard blushes as two fingers slip easily inside of him. They twist and tease and slide over the spot that makes his cock twitch again with renewed interest. 

"After all, I paid for the whole night," his Witcher grins, leaning in to nip playfully at the inside of his knee. "And I intend to make the most of it."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥️ Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


End file.
